


The Surf Breaks as Drops of Water

by tastyboots



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Captain America, Iron Man - Fandom, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Attempted Kidnapping, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Interspecies, M/M, Merpeople, Minor Character Death, Off-screen Character Death, Telepathy, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastyboots/pseuds/tastyboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sits out on the beach every day for a week.</p><p>They start calling around the third day. They want him to come home, or go back to school. They say he can’t sit out on the beach forever.</p><p>He might not know what he’s doing, but he does know one thing:</p><p>There’s something in the water behind the beach house, and he’s going to find out what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beach House

**Author's Note:**

> The "Minor Character Death," and "Off-screen Character Death" tags refer to Howard and Maria Stark.
> 
> Title from the poem "The Mistic Ocean" by John Kim.

He doesn’t cry when he gets the news. Or when he sees a picture of the wreck. Or at the funeral at which he declines to speak.

He wanders around the mansion afterwards, grabs a bottle from his father’s liquor cabinet and drinks as he goes.

The silence is suffocating.

He ends up in his parents’ bedroom. He hasn’t been in here since he was a child, but it looks the same as he remembers; enormous bed in the middle with a night stand on either side, a deep, walk-in closet on the left, a bathroom on the right, and a dressing table across from the bed. The mattress slopes down on either side leaving a divide down the middle which he can’t imagine was crossed very often.

He takes another swallow and drifts into his parents’ closet. He puts on one of his mother’s funny hats, lazily loops one of his father’s ties around his neck. He pauses, considers trying on a pair of his father’s shoes, laughs when he realizes that they probably wouldn’t fit. He throws on one of his mother’s furs instead. It still smells like her perfume.

He sits down at the dressing table, sets down the bottle of liquor and sniffs at his mother’s perfumes until he finds one he likes best. He sprays some on his wrist like he’d seen her do once, coughs when it comes out stronger than he expected. He picks out one of her lipsticks next, a dark shade of red that reminds him of dried blood. He applies it as best he can, and admires himself in the mirror once he’s done. It’s a bit messy, but it’s not like he’s going anywhere. He laughs and kisses the mirror.

The bathtub is huge. He fleetingly wonders if there’s enough booze in the mansion to fill it. He plugs the drain, turns on the tap, and drinks as the water rises, humming a tune his father used to sing under his breath some times while he worked, something he learned in the war. He turns off the water once it nears the brim, sticks his hand in to test the temperature and realizes that he forgot to turn the tap to hot. He chuckles and climbs in with his clothes on.

He fumbles for the bottle he left on the floor and curses when he knocks it over, the last of its contents spilling across the tile. He considers going to get another, but he’s too tired. The weight of the soaked fur pushes him down and he can’t be bothered to fight it.

He nods off, wakes with a start when his nose slips beneath the water. He drags himself out of the tub then, shucks the fur and the tie and the hat, struggles out of his own clothes and leaves them all on the bathroom floor.

He crawls into the bed that used to be his parents’, positions himself in the dead center.

He laughs morbidly at the thought as he slips into unconsciousness.

—————

They send someone over to read his parents’ will. There are no personal remarks, just a list of assets and estates that now belong to him. He didn’t even know they owned a beach house in Malibu, but he decides immediately that he wants to go there. By the end of the day, he’s on a plane.

When he arrives a group of housekeepers are frantically working to air out the dusty house. He drops his bag, takes a quick look around and goes outside to get out of their way. The house is relatively small compared to the mansion he grew up in, but the private beach more than makes up for any of the house’s shortcomings. The ocean is gorgeous and the breeze feels amazing. He takes off his shoes, rolls up his pants, and walks down to where the waves meet the sand, wiggles his toes until his feet are buried.

He catches a flash of something off in the distance, like fish scales catching in the fading sunlight. He wonders what kind of fish they have out here, ponders hiring a boat to take him out. He’s never been fishing before, wonders if he’d like it.

He sees the flash again, but this time he’s looking. It’s big, whatever it is. He shivers and goes back inside.

—————

They want to send someone to look after him. He protests. He has the housekeepers doesn’t he? They grumble, but concede.

He spends the day roaming the house. It is blissfully free of his parents’ things except for a lone scarf he finds in a dresser drawer and a fully stocked liquor cabinet. He leaves the former in the drawer and picks the lock on the latter. One of the housekeepers comes back with bags of groceries just as he’s pulling out a bottle and frowns at him. He grabs a second bottle to go with the first and stalks away to his room.

When he stumbles back into the kitchen later there’s a large pot of spaghetti and a note asking that he please refrain from giving himself alcohol poisoning or choking on his own vomit. He tosses the note and digs in.

He throws up half an hour later, but he makes it to the bathroom, so he counts that as a success.

The sun goes down and a small part of his brain tells him that wandering onto the beach at night while extremely drunk falls into the BAD IDEAS category, but the rest of his alcohol soaked mind wants to see how the ocean looks in the moonlight.

It’s beautiful, to say the least. He suddenly finds himself wishing he painted or something so that he could capture the way the alcohol fuzzes up everything just enough to make it seem magical.

Something splashes in the water.

He watches the ocean and shuffles his feet, trying to decided whether or not to move closer and investigate.

Nothing happens.

He turns back toward the house, about to chalk it up to another big fish when he hears something.

Or rather someone.

He whips back around toward the sea, but there’s no one there.

“Hello?” he calls.

No one answers and unbidden, his memory calls up images of his nose slipping under the water in the bathtub, the soaked fur weighing him down. He starts frantically removing his clothes, and as soon as he gets down to his boxers he runs into the surf.

“Hey, hold on! I’m coming!”

He stops when the water reaches his chest, looks around for the splashing, listens for the voice. He sees nothing but drifting seaweed, hears nothing but the waves and his own pounding heartbeat.

“Fuck.”

He dives, pushes his limbs out in the water to try and make contact. He comes up when he runs out of air, pants in the moonlight. He can’t see or feel anyone in the dark water, his eyes sting from the salt. He imagines someone in the ocean with him, drowning silently just out of sight. He can’t find them. He can’t save them.

“FUCK!”

A loud sob escapes him and suddenly he’s crying. He’s crying for the drowning person he can’t save, and he’s crying because they might just be a drunken hallucination, and he’s crying because he’s 2,000 miles from home, and he’s crying because his parents are dead, and he’s crying because he’s all alone, completely and utterly alone.

Something brushes up against his leg.

He stifles a yell, hesitates for only a second before he dives again, reaches out and grabs someone’s arm. He tries to pull them to the surface, but meets resistance. He pictures their foot caught under a rock, or in an old lobster trap, or worse yet, in the jaws of a shark, and he wants to scream, he’s so scared, and please god, just let him save them.

He pulls with all his strength, breaks the surface with a gasp, his arms wrapped around the other person. They struggle in his grasp and he tries to loosen his grip without letting them slip back under the water, but they somehow get away from him. His arm snaps out to pull them back to safety, but stops when his limbs catch up to what he’s seeing.

The other person— man, is fine. He’s not coughing or choking or unconscious, he’s awake and glaring. He’s also beautiful. All golden hair and skin and gleaming muscles. Completely gorgeous, glare or not.

He has only a brief moment to realize all this before the other man’s fist connects solidly with his face and everything fades to black.

—————

He wakes up to the ocean lapping at the side of his body and the rising sun burning a hole through his eyelids. Or at least that’s what it feels like. He groans and rolls away from the water. He feels like he’s completely covered in sand and salt, and looking down at himself he finds that he was right. His face hurts; he pokes at it gently, he probably has one hell of a black eye. He sits up slowly and looks around the beach. There’s no one there. No footprints either. He frowns and looks out across the water, squinting and using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

There’s someone watching him, just the top of their head down to their eyes held above the water. He thinks it might be the same man from the night before, but with the sun behind them he can’t be sure. He scrambles to his feet and the eyes disappear under the water.

“Hey! Wait!”

He runs into the ocean again, stops when the seawater reaches his knees. The backs of his calves sting and looks down to find them covered in tiny scrapes, some of them bleeding. He looks back out toward the sunrise, but the man is gone.

He glances down at the bloody water around his legs, thinks of sharks and other large fish, and scurries back onto the beach. He stands there for a few minutes, staring out at the water until the breeze makes him shiver. He collects his discarded clothes and runs inside.

—————

He stands under the shower spray until the drain is almost clogged with sand. His entire back side is scratched up, but the little cuts don’t hurt hardly as much as the swollen bruise that covers the left side of his face. He washes his body as gently as he can, winces at the small traces of blood he leaves on the white towel when he dries off. He rifles through the bathroom cabinets until he finds a little first aid kit, puts band-aids over the worst of the cuts, and throws on some loose clothing; a dark hoodie and a pair of sweatpants he’s glad he packed.

He pulls open the freezer only to find it distinctly lacking in frozen peas. He sighs, grabs a dishtowel from the stove, scoops some ice cubes into it, and gingerly presses the bundle to his face. He uses his free hand to grab a fork and eat some pasta from the night before; it’s cold and a bit congealed, but he’s too hungry to care. He can see the beach through the kitchen window and he gazes out at it until he hears a noise from behind him.

He jumps and twists around, but it’s just the housekeeper. She blinks at him for a second and looks like she wants to say something about his face but he cuts her off.

“Thank you. For the, uh,” he waves his fork around, “Food.”

She studies him for a moment and nods. They stand there awkwardly until he picks up the pot of pasta and his make-shift ice pack and shuffles off to his room.

He tries not to think about what happened in the ocean.

When that plan fails he tries to rationalize.

“I was drunk,” he says, “It was all a hallucination. I hit my head on some rocks.”

Then why couldn’t he get the image of the man, golden and gleaming, out of his head?

He sighs and shovels more spaghetti into his mouth.

—————

He grabs his wallet and sneaks out the side door while the housekeeper is cleaning. He walks into town and wanders around until he finds a store that sells camping equipment. He buys a pair of binoculars, a folding chair, and a chocolate bar. The cashier doesn’t recognize him, but does ask about his bruised face. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Uh, bar fight.”

By the time he gets back, the housekeeper is gone, but there’s another pot on the stove, soup this time. He makes a mental note to get her a raise. He puts his new things down and hops up on the kitchen counter to eat and plan.

When he’s eaten his fill he brings the chair and binoculars outside. He considers bringing out a bottle of something strong, but grabs a can of soda instead; he needs to keep a clear head. He sets up the chair and settles in.

He sits in silence for an hour, scanning the water with the binoculars every so often, before he gets bored. Up until now he hasn’t allowed himself any crazy speculations, but as he sits alone on the beach, he lets his imagination run wild. He sips at his soda and imagines selkies and merpeople and a whole race of Ursulas. He weaves a story in his mind about a little boy who eats a radioactive fish and develops the ability to breathe underwater. He laughs at himself and raises his binoculars. He finds himself humming something from The Little Mermaid under his breath.

He sits and watches and daydreams until the sun sets. He considers staying out all night but the darker it gets, the less he can see. He stays until the sun completely disappears behind the horizon before collecting his things and heading inside. He stops and turns just before he reaches the door.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” he calls.

He strains his ears for a splash, but hears nothing. He bites his lip and goes inside.

—————

He sits out on the beach every day for a week.

They start calling around the third day. They want him to come home, or go back to school. They say he can’t sit out on the beach forever. He wonders who on earth could have told them about that.

He glares at the housekeeper the next time he sees her but she ignores him and goes about her duties. She starts making him meals twice a day. He forgives her for ratting him out somewhere between chicken parmesan and grilled salmon. She leaves a bottle of sunscreen on the kitchen counter.

There’s been no sign of the mystery man from the ocean. He wonders if he only shows up at night.

He rummages around the house until he finds an old flashlight. It’s bulky as hell, but at least it still works. He brings it out to his chair the next day along with his binoculars and his usual soda. He applies a thick layer of sunscreen and gets comfortable. If nothing else, at least he’s getting a tan. He stays out all day, only leaving his post to go to the bathroom, grab more soda, and eat. When it gets dark he randomly flicks the flashlight on to scan the dark water. He doesn’t see anything. He falls asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

He wakes up with the sun in his eyes and an awful crick in his neck. When he takes a cursory look around he spots something down by the water. It’s a conch shell, big and empty and the most beautiful one he’s ever seen. He searches the waves for a face that isn’t there. He scoops up his gift and brings it inside.

Tonight he’ll come back with coffee.

—————

He makes two pots; chugs the first and brings the second out with him. He stays awake all night, curses when the sun comes up and he’s seen nothing.

They start calling every day, but he misses their calls. He starts sleeping during the day so that he can stay up at night. The housekeeper isn’t pleased, but she leaves food for him in the fridge, and any messages they leave him on the counter.

His fifth night out on the beach he sees something move in the water.

He flicks on the flashlight to find a small boat approaching the beach. He stands as the man inside hops out to pull it onto the sand. The man says that he’s lost, that his ship’s navigation system broke, points out toward a couple of lights floating on the water, barely visible in the dark and distance.

He opens his mouth to offer help when someone grabs him from behind and presses a rag against his face. Panic makes him inhale. He feels his captor pick him up and start toward the little boat before he’s pulled into unconsciousness.

—————

He wakes up when he hits the water.

He can hear shouting and there are multiple pairs of hands grabbing at him. He struggles to keep his head above the water, tries to swim away from the hands, but he’s dizzy and disoriented and feels like throwing up. He sees the little boat, flipped and sinking under the waves. A face suddenly appears in front of him. The golden mystery man grabs his shoulder and speaks to him inside his head.

_Breathe._

He only has a second to inhale before the man pulls him underwater. He hears muted gunshots as the man takes him down and away, fast. They burst out of the water a ways away, far enough that the men with guns hopefully can’t see them in the dark. He clings to his rescuer and tries not to pass out as he frantically sucks in air. The other man’s chest is heaving almost as heavily as his is.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

The voice inside his head somehow manages to portray mild amusement, _You’re welcome._

He takes a moment to ponder whether or not he’s gone crazy. The answer is probably a resounding yes, so he figures it won’t hurt to just go with the flow.

“I’m Tony.”

The voice in Tony’s head says something that he assumes is a name, but doesn’t sound like anything the human tongue was meant to pronounce.

“Uh…”

The golden man says it again and Tony catches onto a distinct S sound.

“Um… How about I give you a nickname? Uh,” S, S, S, Ssss, uh. He says the first name that comes to mind, “How about Steve?”

The man cocks his head to one side as if considering it, and then nods.

“Right. Okay. Steve. I think I’m about to pass out, Steve, so if you could get me to shore that would be… that would be, uh… great.”

Tony catches a look of alarm on Steve’s face and then, as predicted, promptly passes out.


	2. Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is such a short update, but I figured you deserve a little something now since the next part is giving me a spot of trouble.

_Tony_.

He feels very groggy, but he somehow manages to will his eyes open.

_Tony_.

He mumbles something incoherent as the face in front of him comes into focus. What was the name he came up with before?

_Steve_ , he helpfully supplies.

"Right. Uh," Tony squints, tries to get his bearings. He's not onshore, but he can see the beach. He seems to be propped up against a large cluster of rocks; it's uncomfortable, but he could be drowning, so he figures he shouldn't complain.

"Wait, did you just read my mind?"

_Of course_.

Right.

Steve smiles at him shyly and it's kind of amazing. He blushes like he heard that thought, but Tony doesn't really know how to censor his own brain.

"How come I can't hear _your_ thoughts?"

_You are not People_.

"People?"

_One of my kind_.

"One of your..." Tony looks down. "...Tail."

He can't really see more than the general shape in the dark water, but it's definitely a tail. Steve looks like he's ready to bolt, so Tony tries not to look quite so freaked out.

"Right. Okay. Tail. Okay. That's-- Right. Sorry, I just-- Uh. I mean, I figured you had to be, uh, well, you know. Not human. But it's one thing to imagine it and another to see it, you know? And I-- God, sorry, I'm babbling, I know. It's a thing I do sometimes. It's just that this is all very new to me, and it's kind of life-changing, and I have so many things I want to ask you, but everything is still a little foggy, and this rock is poking me in the ass like a professional pervert, and I'm cold and wet, and I was just almost kidnapped, so maybe we could move this conversation elsewhere?"

Steve is staring at him like he's from a whole other universe, which, Tony supposes, he kind of is, so he tries to repeat the important stuff.

"I need to go back. I need to makes some phone calls. I--" The housekeeper. Fuck, what if she was there when those thugs showed up? Did they go through the house? God, he never even asked for her name. "I need to go back. Someone might be hurt."

Steve nods like he completely understands and, well, of course he does, he can read Tony's mind. He hauls Tony off of the rock like he weighs next to nothing.

"Whoa. Easy there, Superman."

Steve frowns at him, but ignores his comment.

_I can only take you so far. It's difficult for me to swim in shallow water_.

Steve wraps an arm around Tony's waist and starts swimming toward shore. Tony tries not to think about the way his legs brush up against Steve's tail, this is not the time to have a panic attack. Steve gives him a concerned look out of the corner of his eye and puts on speed.

Tony distracts himself by asking, "So how did you get me to the beach the night you punched me?"

Steve keeps his gaze forward, _Painfully_.

Tony thinks of the scratches on his back and cringes at the thought. 

They reach water shallow enough for Tony to stand in no time at all.

_Can you swim from here?_

"Yeah, I should be fine. Thanks." Tony pulls away, stops, turns back, "Will you--"

Steve eyebrows furrow and he swims forward to touch his arm. Tony shivers, tries not to think anything of it.

"Will you come back?" he asks.

Steve searches his face.

_Of course_.

One corner of Tony's mouth twitches upwards. "Okay. Uh. See you later, then."

Steve nods, looks reluctant to let him go.

_Be safe_.

Tony remembers what, and who, might be at stake and nods. He moves away from Steve's touch and swims to shore as fast as he can.

He doesn't look back.


	3. Tony Stark

The house is eerily silent except for the quiet dripping of his clothes on the tile. He shivers, suddenly wonders if the thugs might still be in the house, mentally curses himself for making noise. He contemplates going back for the flashlight that now sits abandoned on the beach, but decides against it. He stands there, heart thumping somewhat wildly in his chest while his eyes adjust to the dark.

He makes his way over to the kitchen phone as quietly as he can, picks up the receiver, dials 9-1... and hesitates.

If he calls the police they'll make him go back to New York.

He'd never see Steve again.

He's about to hang up the phone when the lights flick on. The housekeeper, standing by the light switch, startles at the sight of him and screams. Tony screams back. They stand there for a moment and try to calm their racing hearts.

"Jesus, Tony, you scared the pants off me."

"I could say the same to you. What are you doing here at," Tony glances at his watch, "Uh, 4:30 in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You sleep here?"

She gives him a look and Tony realizes he's still holding the phone receiver. He hangs it up with a click. No thugs have burst out to attack them, so he assumes they're gone. If they were ever even in the house to begin with.

"Sorry," Tony mutters, "I've been a bit distracted. Um. I... never actually got your name."

She huffs, but relents, "Mrs. Arbogast. Bambi Arbogast."

"Right. You should come work for me if I go back to New York."

"If?"

Tony pauses. He hadn't realized his mind had seemingly made itself up without letting him know first.

"Yeah, it's... complicated."

Mrs. Arbogast hums, "Why aren't you parked out on the beach like usual?" She glances at the phone in front of him, "Is everything okay?"

Tony freezes. To tell her, or not to tell her? If those guys come back to try again she could be in danger, but... If he tells her she might tattle, and then they'd drag his ass back to New York. He'll upgrade their security. He'll get a gun. Or hire a man with a gun. Or maybe just design and build a state of the art security system. Shouldn't be too hard. After all, he _is_ Tony Stark.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just going to order a pizza," he smiles, "Forgot what time it is." He backs away from the phone and towards his room. "I think I'll turn in early. Uh, goodnight, Mrs. Arbogast."

She eyes him somewhat skeptically, but lets him go.

"Sleep well, Mr. Stark."

\-----

By noon he's designed a new state of the art security system.

He loads up on coffee, hires a car to take him into town, fills the trunk to the brim with electronics and tools, and heads back to get to work. He sets up shop in one the empty rooms, places his newly bought fire extinguisher by the door. Just in case.

He's elbow deep in wires when Mrs. Arbogast finds him.

"It's nice to see you tinkering again. You had us worried."

Tony untangles himself to chug half a mug of cold coffee.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Arbogast."

"Of course, Mr. Stark. Will you be heading out to the beach soon?"

Tony looks up and realizes that it's gotten dark out. He wants to go, wants so badly to see Steve again. But until he gets this finished Mrs. Arbogast could be in danger.

"No, I have to work on this."

She smiles, "Try to get some sleep at some point, dear."

He nods and goes back to work. Steve will understand.

\-----

He finishes building and preliminary testing by sun rise, and calls a contractor to come over for the instillation. He would do it himself, but hasn't slept in over 36 hours and that plus the near constant caffeine intake is making his hands shake. The contractor looks at him oddly as Tony explains how to install everything, but doesn't protest. Tony leaves him to it. He's asleep before his head hits the pillow.

When he wakes up it's pitch black outside and his watch tells him that it's just after 3 am. He scurries around the house to check the contractor's work, everything looks good. There's food for him in the fridge, and the contractor's bill on the counter. He eats quickly and then goes to change into a bathing suit.

He arms his new security system, and heads down to the water.

"Steve," he calls quietly. He doesn't see or hear anything, so he wades in and calls out again.

When he's gone far enough that the water reaches his chest, a blonde head emerges from the water a few yards away. Tony grins. Steve swims forward quickly and throws his arms around him.

"Whoa! Hey, I'm fine."

Steve releases him with a smile, brings a single hand up to his cheek, and Tony has the sudden urge to kiss him.

Steve jerks back as if hit, face closing off.

"I-- I'm sorry," Tony says. Curse his stupid brain. This wasn't the first time he'd had such thoughts, about Steve or other boys before him, but he'd never, ever acted on them. He can only imagine what his father would do if he found out. Would have done. Tony sucks in a breath. Maybe... Maybe now that his father is gone... He feels guilty for even thinking it.

Steve tentatively touches his arm just below the shoulder and Tony apologizes again. Steve shakes his head.

_It's forbidden._

Tony nods, "Yeah I get it. It's sort of taboo on land, too."

Steve frowns and shakes his head again.

_No, it's not that. It's just-- You're Human._

"Oh." So if they were the same species...

Steve bites his lip and Tony feels his face heat.

"Um. So, anyway. Uh. Mrs. Arbogast is fine. Looks like those guys didn't even go in the house. I set up an alarm system though, just in case they come back."

Steve smiles, _I'm glad. I was worried._

"Well, I--" Steve's hand suddenly comes up to cover Tony's mouth, his head tilted to one side as if listening for something. Tony swallows, tries very hard not to think about where Steve's fingers make contact with his lips.

Steve pushes him back and turns away from him, and for a second Tony's afraid that he's offended him with his thoughts again, but then someone else rises from the water in front of them. Tony yells in alarm, but Steve seems to relax somewhat.

The other person-- man-- merman, raises an eyebrow at them and reaches forward to clasp Steve's arm. It's very weird to watch the two converse silently, and Tony wonders how crazy he and Steve look when they're talking.

Steve turns back to him after a minute, touches his arm again. He looks pale.

_I have to go._

"Is everything okay?"

_No, they--_ Steve shakes his head, _I'll explain later. I need to go._

Tony nods, echoes what Steve said to him the other night, "Be safe."

Steve raises his hand up to the back of Tony's neck, squeezes slightly, brings their foreheads together.

_Tomorrow._

"Tomorrow."

He pulls away, turns, and dives. The other merman stares at Tony for a moment, expression unreadable, and then follows Steve under the waves.

Tony stands alone in the surf and waits until he has his heart rate under control before he swims back. He doesn't think he'll be getting much sleep tonight.


	4. Friends

He was right about not sleeping much. It's not just that he slept all day, although that doesn't help, it's that he can't stop thinking. He has a million questions and he's only gotten a handful of answers. That and the worry are what keep him up the most; that creeping feeling at the back of his mind that something bad happened, that he'll never see Steve again.

He thinks about his new security system and wonders if he ought to be more worried about himself.

He manages to sleep for a couple of hours, wakes up, much to Mrs. Arbogast's surprise, around breakfast time, and eats with her in the kitchen. He still can't stop thinking and worrying, no matter how many pancakes he shoves in his mouth. Mrs. Arbogast hesitantly comments on his apparent distraction. He bullshits something about a new design, belatedly realizes that building something might actually help clear his head, and excuses himself to his makeshift workshop.

It works. Sort of. By the end of the day he's built a fishing spear and started modifying some newly purchased scuba gear.

Mrs. Arbogast calls him out for dinner; it's salmon. He stares down at it long enough for her to ask him if he's alright. He nods, reminds himself that salmon is a fresh-water fish and digs in, mind instantly wandering off again. She attempts to make small talk, asks about his new project, and he must say something because suddenly she's talking about his parents, about how proud his father would be.

Tony chews slowly, trying to think of something to say. He realizes with a shock of guilt that he hasn't thought of his parents in days. He swallows, still can't think of anything to say, nods instead.

How do you tell someone that your dead parents didn't really love you all that much?

The rest of dinner passes in awkward silence. He rushes out to the beach as soon as he's done. He brings the fishing spear.

He doesn't have to wait long. He wades out as soon as Steve's head appears above the water. Steve eyes the spear concernedly as he reaches out for Tony's arm.

_Is everything alright?_

"What?" Tony glances at the weapon in his hands, "Oh. Yeah. Everything's fine on my end. Are _you_ okay?"

Steve nods, eyebrows still furrowed.

"Oh. Well. You said-- When you left last night it sounded bad so I-- I mean, not that you can't take care of yourself, that's not what I'm saying I was just--"

Steve smiles at him and he sucks in a breath, "In hindsight, I may have over-reacted a bit. So you're okay, right?"

Steve nods again, _My friend and I were able to take care of the situation._

"That other, uh, merguy?"

Tony's sure the name Steve gives is perfectly normal in their language, but it's utterly incomprehensible to him. He gives Steve a lost sort of look, "Can I give him a nickname?"

Steve smiles again and, man, does he have a great smile. He looks at Tony like he knows where that thought is headed and Tony pulls his arms away from Steve's touch for a moment to collect himself. Steve's face smooths and he looks away until Tony's hand tentatively brushes Steve's shoulder.

Sorry, Tony thinks.

Steve looks thoughtful, but doesn't press.

_You may call him whatever you want._

"Alright. Say it again?"

Steve repeats his friend's name; it's just as unpronounceable the second time around.

"Uh... B. Buh. Buh, buh, buh. Buck? Bucker? No. Uh, Bucko? Bucky? Hmm, that's not bad. Bucky?"

Steve shrugs and smiles, and Tony can't help but laugh.

"Okay. Bucky. Man, I'm really horrible at naming people. Good thing I'm not planning on having kids."

_You're not?_

"Uh. Not really. I mean," Tony unintentionally takes his hand off Steve's shoulder to run it through his hair. Steve blinks at him and Tony quickly puts it back, "Kids are great and all, but I just don't think I'd make a very good dad."

_I think you're wrong._

Tony's eyebrows shoot up, "Well, we haven't exactly know each other all that long, I don't think--"

_No, we haven't, but despite that you've been... a very good friend._

Tony stares at him, "We're friends?"

Steve frowns, _Of course._

Tony grins, "Cool."

Steve grins back and Tony wishes--

He pulls his hand away, shakes himself. Steve cautiously touches his arm.

"Sorry."

_You don't have to apologize, you know. I--_ he looks away, takes a deep breath, looks back up and meets Tony's eyes, _Me, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter and semi-cliff hanger. I wanted to give you guys a little something since I haven't updated in forever. The next chapter should hopefully be up in a few days. *fingers crossed* Kisses! ♥


	5. More

Tony chokes, starts coughing like he's swallowed water. Steve grips his arm like he isn't quite sure what to do.

"I-- I thought you said it was forbidden?" Tony sputters.

_It is._

"But not because I'm I guy? Because I'm--"

_Because you're human._

Tony coughs one last time, "Right. Uh," he fidgets, fiddles with the stupid spear, can't meet Steve's eyes, and then something occurs to him, "Is that why... I mean, did someone find out? Is that why you had to go so suddenly last time? Is it just," Tony's tongue trips over the words, "romantic... things... that are forbidden or...?"

_It is against our laws to reveal ourselves to humans, but especially, uh... romantic... things... I've been disappearing a lot lately and someone suspected... He doesn't particularly like me, to put it mildly, so he went looking for me. Bucky_ , he says slowly, as if testing the name, _Came to warn me. If he hadn't..._

"Bad, huh?"

_Yes._

"So... why did you risk coming back?"

Steve stares at him, his expression shifting slowly from a frown to a faint smile.

_I thought that was obvious._

"Oh."

Steve tentatively moves his hand up to Tony's face, pushing away a strand of hair that's gotten a bit straggly since his last cut.

_I wish..._

Tony tilts his head, unsure of Steve's meaning, but he just drops his hand down to Tony's shoulder. The wind picks up, and Tony shivers. It hasn't been too cold lately, especially for this time of year, but it feels like there might be a cold front coming in.

_You should go back. Get warm._

Tony shivers again, "Yeah, I guess."

_I'll come back tomorrow._

"Could you come during the day? It wouldn't be that much warmer, but," Tony shrugs, "I could maybe stay in the water a little longer."

_Too dangerous._

"Aren't you already breaking the rules?" Tony asks with a smirk.

Steve chuckles, _More dangerous. If I came during the day, someone might notice I was missing. Well_ , Steve grumbles, _Someone else might notice. Besides, I have other duties besides rescuing skinny humans from seafaring criminals that require my attention._

Steve's voice in Tony's head and his facial expression are so flat that Tony almost misses the joke. He laughs and warmth seems to sweep through him. Steve smiles coyly.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to wear something a bit warmer," Tony replies, gesturing down at his swim trunks and bare chest where his nipples are peaked from the cold. Steve's lingering gaze makes Tony blush. "Er. I guess I should get going then."

Steve jerks his eyes back to Tony's and nods, his face reddening as well.

_I'll be back tomorrow._

"Yeah."

Steve touches their foreheads together as he did last night and departs without another word.

Tony sighs, shivers, and swims back to shore. There's a hot shower waiting with his name on it.

\-----

The hot water feels amazing. As he washes his body he remember's Steve's hands on him, on his arms and shoulders and face. He imagines them slipping lower, wonders what it might be like...

He shakes the thought away, glares down at himself, and turns the knob to cold. He gasps and finishes showering as quickly as he can.

He heads for the liquor cabinet as soon as he's dressed. Mrs. Arbogast must have found the key because it's locked. Tony can't decide if he finds that annoying or endearing. He goes to his makeshift workshop, comes back with a couple of tools, and picks the lock with relative ease. He grabs a bottle and locks it up again.

He climbs into bed, takes a swig, wonders if he should just put the bottle away, try to sleep. He thinks of the shower, of what happened when he imagined Steve's hands on him.

He keeps drinking until he passes out.

\-----

He wakes up to a puddle of vomit inches from his nose and Mrs. Arbogast watching him from the doorway. She gives him a look that's somewhere between disappointment, anger, and pity. He hates that fucking look.

He sits up and uses the hem of his shirt to wipe his mouth. Mrs. Arbogast is still standing in the doorway.

"What are you looking at?" he growls.

She huffs and walks away.

He pulls off his shirt and the sheets, bundles them up and drags them into the laundry room, climbs into the shower and stays there until he feels semi-human again. He stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror. If he just focuses on one feature at a time, he can almost see his parents.

"What are you looking at?" he whispers.

He throws up two more times before he gets dressed.

\-----

There's a plate of toast and bacon waiting for him in the kitchen, but Mrs. Arbogast is nowhere to be seen. He eats slowly, feels much better after.

He goes back to the store where he bought the camping chair and binoculars, hovers over an over-priced wet-suit, passes it up and buys some gadgets to take apart instead.

The cashier recognizes him on the way out.

"Hey, aren't you that Stark kid?"

"Uh, yeah," he quickly hands over some money, but the guy doesn't take the hint.

"Man, I'm sorry about your parents. That really sucks."

Tony nods, glances pointedly at his money in the cashier's hand, but the guy doesn't move.

"Hey, you don't want to come to a party tonight, do you?"

Tony blinks at him. "Uh..."

"There'll be a ton of hot girls there."

Tony thinks about Steve, about the wet-suit he didn't buy, about his promise to be there tonight, about Steve's forehead pressed against his, about Steve's hands.

"Yeah, sure," he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got a job at Disney, and I'm moving in with my sister who currently has no internet, so updates might be a little slow, but I swear to merman Jesus that I will not abandon this story.
> 
> Kisses!


	6. Party Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the angst. (I also apologize for the complete lack of Steve in this chapter. But there's a lot of him coming up so...)
> 
> Please note the new Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism tag. (It features kind of heavily this chapter, so if alcohol abuse bothers/triggers you, you can skip to the end of this chapter without missing anything crucial.)
> 
> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

The party is something of a disaster; by the time he gets there almost everyone is smashed and about half are high and it's only nine o'clock. There's a drunken roar when the cashier introduces him to the crowd and then he's being pulled over to the bar. He gratefully accepts a cup of something strong.

He feels guilty for standing Steve up, so he devises a drinking game to distract himself: sip every time someone asks him something stupid, drink every time someone asks to take a picture with him, double drink every time someone mentions his parents, chug every time he thinks about Steve.

Needless to say, it doesn't take long for him to get plastered.

It takes too much effort to sit up so he's curled up on a couch with his head in some girl's lap. He realizes he's babbling and stops to ask the girl for her name.

"It's Stevie. Like Stevie Wonders. Hey, you don't know him, do you?"

The last thing Tony remembers is grabbing Stevie's drink and chugging.

\-----

He comes out of his blackout vomiting.

Someone is holding his head over a trashcan.

He has no idea where he is.

"Jesus," someone says, "Do you think we should call 911?"

"Yeah, David, that's a great idea. Let's invite the cops over to this party full of teenagers. Maybe you can offer them a joint, too, dumbass."

"I'm just saying, he looks bad. We gotta do something, Stevie."

"We are not calling the fucking cops!"

Tony spits into the trashcan, wishes he had something to wash his mouth out with. "'M fine."

"Oh thank god."

"Hey, boy wonder," Stevie says, "Good to have you with us. You want to try drinking some more water?"

Tony tries to nod, but his head feels too heavy, so he grunts instead. Apparently she understands; she helps him sit up a bit and lifts a cup to his lips. He drinks until she pulls it away. Stevie and David pause, as if waiting for something. Tony throws up again, Stevie sighs.

Tony coughs, "Shou' call m' housekeeper."

"Yeah, you keep saying that, but then you start throwing up before you give us a fucking number."

Tony rattles it off and watches as David scrambles around for a phone. David dials and then slaps a hand over the speaker, "Shit, what do I say?"

Tony waves a hand at him and David shoves the receiver into his palm.

"Hello?"

"Can you come pick m' up?"

"...Tony?"

"Yeah."

"Oh thank god. Where are you?"

"At a party. Uh... hold on," Tony holds the phone to his chest and asks, "I'm still at the party, right?"

"Yeah, dude, you're still at the party."

Tony lifts the phone back to his ear and gives Mrs. Arbogast the address from memory. David's eyebrows shoot up. Mrs. Arbogast says she'll be right there, so Tony hands the phone back to David.

"Genius, remember?"

"Right..."

Tony tries to stand up, but falls back down onto the bed. Tony looks around. He's on a bed. He's on a bed and he's only wearing his boxers. Stevie is wearing his shirt.

"Uh."

Stevie huffs at him, "You don't remember anything, do you?"

"Not exactly. Um."

David is wearing a shirt, boxers, and one sock.

He turns back to Stevie, "Did we...?"

"No. Someone was too drunk to get it up," she smiles cruelly, "But you did help me give David a handjob."

David blushes and stammers. Tony feels nauseous. Stevie laughs.

The help him get dressed. He throws up a couple more times. Someone tries to take a picture of him curled around the trashcan, but David stops him. Stevie doesn't move.

They walk him outside, but Mrs. Arbogast isn't there yet, so they sit him down on the curb. Stevie slips him her number and goes back inside. David lingers.

"I'm, uh..." David shuffles his feet, Tony cranes his neck to look up at him and tries not to fall over, "Please don't tell anybody, okay? It's gonna be hard enough getting Stevie to keep her mouth shut, but I-- I just don't want my parents to see something in a magazine or whatever, you know?"

"Sure, bub."

David shuffles his feet again, "Thanks. Uh. I guess I'll just go back inside then."

"Yeah," Tony says, "Have fun."

David shuffles again and then hurries back inside.

Tony lays down on the curb until Mrs. Arbogast shows up in a cab.

"Are you alright?" she asks, helping him up and into the car and ducking in after him.

"I'm fine."

"You should've told me where you were going, I--"

"Can we not?!" Tony yells, "Can we just not do this right now? I'm tired and nauseous and just-- Can we just go?"

The cabbie glances back at them nervously and starts the car. Tony leans his head against the window.

"I'm sorry, I was just worried abou--"

"Why?" Tony snaps.

"I... I care about you, Tony. You might feel like you're all alone right now, but you're not."

"You're not my fucking mom!"

Mrs. Arbogast sucks in a breath, "No. I'm not. But she's dead," Tony jerks back, "And you're under my care now, so--"

Tony laughs bitterly, "There it is! I'm nothing more than a paycheck to you, let's not pretend otherwise."

Mrs. Arbogast doesn't respond. Tony turns away. The driver coughs awkwardly.

The rest of the drive is spent in tense silence. Mrs. Arbogast pays the fare when they arrive and bustles inside. Tony wobbles after her. She waits for him in the foyer.

"I'll leave in the morning."

Tony keeps walking.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Stark?"

Tony pauses outside of his room.

"Loud and clear."


	7. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: This is short and somewhat of a cliffhanger.
> 
> Also, please note, this part involves blood and mild gore and the Off Screen/Minor Character Death tag now applies to a character other than Howard and Maria Stark. (Sorry.)

Tony wakes up to a muffled scream.

He jerks upright in bed, strains his ears for another noise, and leaps out of bed when he hears Mrs. Arbogast yell his name.

He gets to the kitchen, stops, runs back and grabs his spear. He sprints out the door and hits the beach at full speed, weapon raised. He skids to a stop when he sees Mrs. Arbogast running towards him.

"Tony!"

He looks around for an attacker, but sees no one. Except Steve.

The merman is washed up on the beach, cheek pressed into the sand. The surf around him is a sickening pink.

Tony drops the spear and surges forward. He can feel Mrs. Arbogast trying to hold him back but he doesn't stop.

"Steve!" He drops to his knees beside him, pulls his face out of the sand, knows he should try to stop the bleeding, put pressure on the wound, something, but there's so much blood he doesn't know where to put his hands, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Steve!"

Steve's eyes open, it takes a second for him to focus on his face. _Tony._

"Yeah. Yeah, shit. Yeah, I'm here. Tell me-- just tell me what do do. What do I do? What happened?"

_He's dead._

"What? Who's dead?"

_...Bucky. They... they killed him._

"Fuck," Tony sucks in a breath, "Fuck!"

"Tony..." Mrs. Arbogast is slowly creeping forward, and Tony realizes how this must look, how fucking crazy this situation is.

"Shit. Fuck!" He jerks his gaze back to Steve, "This is all my fault. I don't-- What do I do?"

Steve reaches up to clasp the back of Tony's neck and pulls down.

_Kiss me._

Their lips meet and something _happens_.

Tony jerks backwards just as Steve begins convulsing. Mrs. Arbogast grabs Tony and drags his limp form a few feet away. Steve screams.

And then things get really freaky.

Steve's skin and the blue scales of his tail start flaking off in a manner similar to a snake shedding its skin, only more fascinating and about ten times more disgusting. Mrs. Arbogast clutches at Tony's arm as Steve writhes around and literally climbs out of his skin. The pair swear, words tumbling over each other, as the shed skin and scales fall away from Steve's body to reveal new skin below.

Legs.

The fucker grew legs.

Steve goes still, and Tony lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Tony," Mrs. Arbogast says, "What. The hell. Is going on?"

Tony pries himself out of her grip and takes a cautious step forward.

"I'll let you know as soon as I do."


	8. Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little part was already posted to my Tumblr a good while ago, and I _was_ going to wait until I wrote a bit more to update here, but then life got in the way, and I'm only now working on the next part so I figured you guys deserved this. Sorry it's so tiny. (And sorry to any people who already read this bit on Tumblr and got excited thinking I'd written something new.)

"Who-- What is that?"

Tony slowly approaches the former merman and kneels down next to him; he's unconscious, but still breathing.

"His name is Steve," Tony murmurs distractedly.

"All that time you spent out on the beach..."

"Yeah... Kinda."

There's still blood and sand everywhere, but from what he can see the wounds don't look as bad as before.

"Help me get him inside."

"I--" Mrs Arbogast looks like she's about to have a conniption.

"Please!" she doesn't move, "I'll explain everything later and then you can quit and I promise to never bother you again, but right now I need your help. Please."

Mrs. Arbogast shakes herself and moves forward. Together they awkwardly lift Steve up; Tony grabbing under the arms and Mrs. Arbogast taking his legs.

"Oh god, it's--" Mrs. Arbogast corrects herself, "he's slimy."

"Good thing we're headed for the shower then," Tony says.

\-----

The doors are a bitch, but they finally get manage to get Steve into the tub. Tony cranks up the warm water and starts rinsing away blood and sand, pointed not staring at the naked flesh below his waist.

"So," Mrs. Arbogast says, seeming much more calm than she did out on the beach, but it's possible she's just gone into some sort of survival mode, "Mermaids."

"Yeah."

"Mermaids... who can read minds."

"Yeah. I mean it makes sense if you think about it, what with the way sound travels through water and all, but I think it only worked for us when we touched."

Mrs. Arbogast raises an eyebrow.

"Not-- Not like that..."

Her other eyebrow lifts to join the first, "It sure looked like that when when he was kissing you."

"That--" Tony coughs, turns his face away to hide the heat on his cheeks, "I don't know what that was, but we're just... we're just friends."

"Well. The mermaid-- merman, merfellow? --thing is kinda weird, I mean, it's crazy, I'm still not positive that I'm not having a really strange dream, but I suppose there are worse people you could date."

Tony chokes, "I'm-- We're not--"

"I'm going to go get the first aid kit. Why don't you see if you can wake him up? We might have to take him to the hospital, but I feel like that's probably not the best idea, so we'll save that as a last resort."

"But I'm not--!"

"Tony! It's okay. Really. Whatever you two are or aren't-- it's okay."

Tony stares at her. Mrs. Arbogast smiles, nods, and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And lo, the author took up a steady chant, "I _will_ write more, I _will_ write more, I _will_ write more..."


	9. Merman in the Bathtub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally broke down her writer's blockade?

Tony stares at the merman in his bathtub.

"Well that's something you don't say every day," he murmurs to himself.

He continues rinsing Steve off for a moment while he thinks about the best way to try waking him up. He turns off the water and pushes a mat of blond hair out of Steve's face.

"Steve," he tries. There's no response. Tony places a hand on his upper arm and shakes gently, "Steve?" Still no response.

A thought comes to him. He glances at the door, but there's no sign of Mrs. Arbogast.

Tony takes a steadying breath and bends down to kiss him.

He pulls away a few inches to watch for a reaction.

Nothing.

"Figures," Tony huffs, face heating.

He starts to sit up when Steve's eyes pop open and he jerks upright, head slamming into Tony's with a solid thunk that sends Tony tumbling to the bathroom floor.

"Fuck! Ow! Jesus fuck what was tha-- Hey! Hey, hi! Steve!"

Steve looks at Tony and then down at his new legs and starts hyperventilating.

"Whoa! Whoa, hey, Steve," Tony says, scrambling off his back so he can lean over the side of the tub. He grabs Steve shoulders just as Mrs. Arbogast rushes into the bathroom behind him. "It's okay, you're okay. Breathe."

Steve's eyes move frantically around the room. Tony moves one hand to Steve's chest, "Breathe with me."

Tony inhales loudly, holds it for a second and exhales. Steve's breath catches, slows slightly. He sways and Tony returns his hand to Steve's shoulder to gently lower him backward.

Steve reaches across his chest to hold one of Tony's hands in place, _Don't leave me_.

Foreign words follow out loud milliseconds after he says them in Tony's head. Steve's eyelids droop and Tony can tell he's about to pass out again.

Tony squeezes his shoulders, "I got you."

"Well," Mrs. Arbogast says from behind him.

"Yeah," Tony replies, hesitantly removing his hands from Steve's shoulders so he can turn to face her.

She holds up the first aid kit, "I'm gonna start bandaging him up. You can help, or you can go do something with the merman skin out on the beach."

"Uh..." he glances at Steve's bared skin and quickly gets to his feet, "Right. I'll just. Yeah."

Mrs. Arbogast unsuccessfully tries to hide her smile as he passes her on his way out.

\-----

His first thought is to just kick the disgusting mass of skin and scales into the ocean. His second thought is to burn it. He remembers reading about selkies and their seal skins though, so he grabs a trash bag from the kitchen and scoops the stuff inside. Just in case.

He isn't sure what to do with the bag though, so he just brings it inside and drops it in his workshop. He wonders if Mrs. Arbogast is done yet, if he should go help her out, but he figures in either case he should probably clean himself off first. He heads to one of the other bathrooms to shower.

He’s washing shampoo from his hair when it hits him once more that Steve the former-merman is laying unconscious in the tub on the other side of the beach house.

The knock on the bathroom door jars him from his thoughts and he realizes he’s been standing there for quite some time.

“Tony?” Mrs. Arbogast calls, “Are you alright?”

Tony raises his voice over the sound of running water, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec.”

He finishes up, dries off, and wraps a towel around his waist to run to his room for clothes. He half expects Mrs. Arbogast to be standing outside of the bathroom door when he opens it, but she must have gone back to check on Steve. He quickly tugs on a pair of sweatpants he finds on his bedroom floor and sprints back to the other bathroom.

He finds Mrs. Arbogast helping a wobbly Steve out of the tub.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.”

The sound of Tony’s voice draws Steve’s gaze and he stumbles a bit.

“I was going to have you help me carry him, but then he woke up, so, uh-- Would you mind giving me a hand here?”

“Oh! Yeah,” Tony rushes forward and positions himself under Steve’s other arm.

 _Hi_ , Steve says as they help him step all the way out of the tub.

“Hey. You okay?”

Steve huffs as they slowly shuffle forward, _Not really_.

“Yeah,” Tony says, “I feel you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short. More to come soon, lovelies. Thanks for sticking with me. (Side note: if Rose is reading this, I left a reply to your comment on Chapter 3.)


End file.
